


Make It Pretty

by windsthatwhisper



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M, lil bit of self conscious!Jonny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17869670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsthatwhisper/pseuds/windsthatwhisper
Summary: Jonny bites his lip nervously. “It's not- I don't do the whole bras and makeup thing. I mean, I could if you wanted me to, but- it's usually just this.”Patrick's still trying to process the image of Jonny's bare thighs in his skirt.Jonny brings his arms up to hold himself self consciously. “Do you like it?”





	Make It Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like there isn't enough crossdresser!Jonny so here we are.

It starts with a pink pair of boxer briefs Patrick finds in the wash.

He's doing the laundry after getting off work. Jonny only just moved in with him during his junior year old college, and Patrick was still getting used to making bigger loads.

He was finishing up folding a load of darks, when he comes across the pastel pink underwear stuck to a shirt.

They're Jonny's size, he realizes. He peeks into the dryer and sees Jonny's salmon shorts and Patrick's red polo. He shrugs, and figures they were a white pair that got colored in the wash, and folds them up.

He's loading the clothes into the laundry basket when he hears the front door open. “Pat? I'm back!”

He hauls the basket onto his hip and walks out to find his boyfriend. Jonny's just finished toeing off his shoes when he catches sight of Patrick, and he smiles upon seeing him.

“Hey.” He kisses Patrick hello. “How was work?”

“Same stupid bullshit. You know how carpentry goes.” Pat shrugs. “It started raining, though, so we got to leave early.”

Jonny nods, but before he can respond, Patrick chucks the pair of pink boxer briefs at him, “Found these in the dryer. Looks like they got colored. Sorry bud.”

Jonny's staring down at the underwear with wide eyes. Patrick snorts after a few seconds and heads to the bedroom.

\----

Patrick wakes up the next day to a quiet house. There's a lamp lit on the bedside table, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“Jonny?” He grumbles, “Babe?”

There's a crash from the bathroom.

Patrick hustles out of bed and to the bathroom door. He knocks his knuckles against it, light. He can hear a bath running. “Jon? You in there?”

There's a moment of pause before, “Uh, yeah. I'm here.”

“Are you okay? I heard something fall.”

“Uh- yeah, just some shampoo bottles.”

There's a tremor in his voice, and a shot of fear goes down his spine. “Everything okay?”

There's another pause, and he says, calmer this time. “I'm fine, Pat.”

He doesn't sound fine, but Patrick knows better than to push. “Okay. I'll start breakfast.”

“You mean you'll start _ordering_ breakfast?”

Something lifts behind Patrick's chest; relief, maybe. Jonny's okay enough to chirp him. That's a good sign.

“Hey, fuck you. I'm gonna make you the best damn lasagna you've ever eaten.” He says surely.

(They eat at Denny's that night.)

\----

Patrick shoves through the door the next day, grocery bags in his arms. “Jonny? I'm home!”

“In the kitchen!”

Patrick kicks around a can of soup that fell from one of the bags. He dribbles it between his feet as he heads to the kitchen. Jonny's by the stove, but Patrick's too worried about not dropping all the glass jars to notice anything.

He gets the heavy stuff on the counter and steals a piece of celery Jonny's cutting. He rounds the corner of the counter to greet him and promptly chokes on his celery.

“Hi.” Jonny says meekly. He doesn't meet his eyes.

He didn't notice at first, because Jonny looks fairly normal. It's not like he's wearing lingerie.

He's in a tight grey shirt that hugs his muscles, looks soft to the touch. A skirt hangs off his hips, white and delicate that goes down to his mid thigh. His legs and arms are bare, _shaved,_ and all Patrick can think of is-

“Is that what you were doing in the bathroom?”

Jonny blushes, “Uh, yeah.”

Patrick's speechless, raking Jonny's body up and down. Jonny's wearing black flats, a few bracelets on his wrists. He looks- he looks _pretty._ Delicate. 

“Yeah, so, I like dressing like- this. More girlish.” Jonny bites his lip nervously. “It's not- I don't do the whole bras and makeup thing. I mean, I could if you wanted me to, but- it's usually just this.”

Patrick's still trying to process the image of Jonny's thighs in his skirt.

Jonny brings his arms up to hold himself self consciously. “Do you like it?”

Patrick stands in his spot, mouth gaping like a fish. He's so caught up in the dizziness of how quick he got hard that he doesn't notice Jonny curling in on himself as more seconds of silence pass.

“Right then.” Says Jonny, turning to leave to go change. Maybe Patrick will just forget about-

“No!” Patrick shrieks and throws an arm out to grab Jonny's wrists. His pinkie catches on one of the bangles.

Jonny freezes.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just, you look so…”

“Weird?” Jonny winces.

“Breathtaking.” Patrick admits. He reaches forward with his free arm and runs his fingers over the fuzzy fabric of Jonny's shirt. It's like a blanket, soft and gentle beneath his callouses. He trails his fingers down Jonny's side, to the hem of the shirt, lower, where the top of the skirt starts.

The skirt is a little rougher, but still soft, and the bottom hem sways with every movement. Patrick gets low enough, and his eyes widen. His head snaps up to meet the eyes of his boyfriend, whose face is bright red and embarrassed.

“You're hard.” Patrick says, like he's surprised.

The fabric of the skirt is tented in the crotch area. It's like a slap to the face, really. Because Jonny- he isn't a girl. He has a dick. But he's wearing a _skirt._ He has a dick under his skirt and it's such a minuscule realization, but Patrick can hardly contain himself.

“Is this okay?” Jonny asks, timid. He looks like a startled rabbit, like he'll take off at one wrong move. He probably will.

“It's more than okay.” Patrick confirms, taking the hand on Jonny's wrist to feel around Jonny's torso.

“So pretty,” he whispers, staring at Jonny in awe, “You got all dressed up for me?”

Jonny's face looks about as red as the tomatoes that were sitting out, waiting to be cut up. “It- it's not much. Just a skirt, and some shoes.”

Patrick doesn't buy it for a second. Jonny wouldn't have put on a skirt if he didn't like to dress up all pretty on purpose.

“Love you like this.” Pat murmurs. He covers Jonny's clothes crotch with his hand, and Jonny mewls.

Patrick backs him up against the counter, hands settling on the tops of Jonny's thighs. They're so smooth, now that he's shaved. He runs them in between his thighs, where he knows Jonny is most sensitive. Jonny's legs start to shake a little as Patrick ghosts his fingers across the inside of his thighs.

Patrick cups the back of Jonny's thighs, squeezes, then slips them beneath the skirt. Jonny gasps, lips parting in surprise, and he whimpers when Patrick takes Jonny's asscheeks in his hands and squeezes.

“Oh God.” He whispers, leans in to kiss Jonny stupid.

Jonny wraps his arms around Pat's neck, desperate. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Jonny doesn't know.

Patrick slips a hand down Jonny's leg and locks his hand under Jonny's knee, brings it up to hook around his waist. Jonny holds on tight for the ride.

Patrick hums, free hand on the small of Jonny’s back, pulling him against his chest. “Wanna fuck you with your skirt on.”

Jonny whines. “Shit, please.”

Patrick grinds forward, rubbing against Jonny's bulge. “Should fuck you right here, up against the counter.”

“That's unsanitary.” Jonny gasps, breaking apart to pant into Patrick's neck.

Patrick consider this. He's half convinced to do it anyway, but he gets a thought of seeing Jonny's face in a mirror and decides on a better idea.

Patrick drops Jonny's leg. “I'm going to the bathroom in the bedroom. Meet me there in five minutes.”

He kisses Jonny and disappears before he can respond. Jonny takes the first minute to try to comprehend everything that just happened, and spent the last four anxiously waiting for the time to expire.

When the stove timer beeps, Jonny slams his hand over the buttons to turn it off and hurrieds to the bathroom.

Jonny pushes the door open and flicks on the light. “Pat?”

Patrick comes out of nowhere, and immediately goes at it to attack Jonny's neck with hickeys, hands slipping under his skirt to grab his ass again.

“Briefs, huh?” Pat asks, “No panties?”

Jonny gulps, “Didn't- didn't know if you'd like them.”

Patrick didn't actually expect Jonny to own panties, and once again he found himself having to regather all of his brain cells. “You have panties? Honest?”

Jonny nods quickly. “Yeah, they- there's five of them.”

Patrick presses Jonny against the edge of the sink counter, pushes his skirt up to find matching white Calvin Klein boxer briefs and tries to imagine panties on him instead. He fits his hand over Jonny's bulge. “What do they look like?”

Jonny's pretty focused on the hand that's groping his cock, so he speaks in gasps and chokes when he finally says, “Two- two white ones. Lace. Got a-" he moans when Patrick rubs circles over the head “- pink pair, and a grey, and a light blue. They're s-silk.”

Patrick makes a hurt noise, like a punch to the gut at the thought of Jonny in lacy white panties, or pretty pink silk.

“Bet you wear them places.” Patrick breathes, tugging down the boxer briefs and tossing them to the side to hold Jonny's bare ass. “Put them on under your khakis and wear them to school?”

Jonny jolts when he feels a cold, lubed finger press against his hole, then slip inside.

“Know how much you're an exhibitionist, baby. Bet you wore them to frat parties.”

Jonny goes to deny it, but Patrick talks over him. “You'll wear them for me, won't you, Jonny? Give me something to come home to; wearing your panties under a cheeky little skirt, prancing around like you own the place.”

Patrick is achingly hard, just imagining the possibilities. Coming home from a long day at work, tired and worn. And Jonny just sliding right up into his space the moment he walks through he door, wearing nothing but a tiny skirt and his panties.

“Shit.” Patrick curses and shoves another finger inside.

Jonny chokes on a gasp, hands scrabbling for purchase on the marble. The burn is disappearing, replaced by a delicious stretch that Jonny wants more of.

“More.” He moans, pushing his hips back.

Patrick does as he's demanded of and slips in a third. Jonny winces, ducks his head into his arms to hide.

Patrick hits his prostate, and Jonny wails out, _“No!”_

Patrick knows better.

Jonny loses all sense of control when he's prostate-fucked. He gets boneless and wanton, nothing that he likes to let on that he is. The intimidation people get from his looks disappears.

Patrick hits that spot again, and again, and then a third time, watching Jonny collapse against the sink, feet slipping on the tile. Patrick hits it hard and fast, and the bottom of his cock runs against his skirt, chaffing. It's such a direct feeling that Jonny can't escape from.

“I-I'm ready.” Jonny gasps, and when Patrick thrusts his fingers quicker, he rocks up towards the wall, scrambling to get away, _“I'm ready!_ I'm ready!”

Patrick finally retracts his fingers. Jonny gasps for air, trembling against the tile. It's warming under his body heat.

Patrick can't take it anymore. He unzips his suit pants and shoves them and his underwear down below his balls. It's a relief to get his cock free.

Patrick leans forward to nip at Jonny's ear, asks with a grin, “Are you ready?”

Jonny thrusts his hips back to jostle Patrick's dick mainly. “You're an asshole. Fucking get in me.”

Patrick slicks up his dick and presses the head to Jonny's entrance, then slowly eases inside. They're both panting by the time he's fully seated.

“God.” Patrick breathes. He kicks at Jonny's ankles lightly. “Spread ‘em a little mo- _yeah_ there you go.”

Patrick's finger wiggles into the waistband of Jonny's skirt and snaps it against his back. He pulls out a little, then pushes back in. Beneath him, Jonny groans, writhes against the marble.

Patrick starts snapping his hips, holding onto the edge of the sink for leverage. He's eager, desperate to get off, and he knows Jonny is, too.

Jonny's skirt bounces as he gets fucked, jolting up and then settling against the curve of Jonny's ass, before cycling all over again.

Jonny's still got his face tucked into his arms, and no no, that's not allowed. Patrick puts a hand at the base of Jonny's spine, slides it up across Jonny's tight shirt, and slips into his hair. He tugs suddenly, harsh, yanks Jonny's head up so he can see himself in the mirror.

“Watch me, Jonny,” he orders, “Watch us.”

Jonny moans breathlessly at the sight of himself, sweating and flushed red. They're both still fully clothed, but Jonny's ass is hanging out of his skirt and Jonny can _see_ it in the mirror, see glimpses of Patrick's cock slamming in and out of him.

“Ngh,” Jonny whimpers, “Shit, shit, shit.”

Patrick briefly changes angles, and Jonny cries out, hand slamming against the faucet. He pays little mind to it while his body lights up. He sees himself, sees every reaction, sees all of Patrick's. It's overwhelming.

“‘M gonna come.” Patrick says, mouth dropped open. Jonny whines, panicked, because Jonny's not there yet. Patrick tugs on his hair a little soon and shushes him. “It's okay. I'll get you there.”

Jonny's head is still forced in place, which means he sees _everything_ as Patrick comes. He tosses his head back, lips parted in a high moan as he spills hot inside of Jonny.

Jonny gives him a moment. Pat's in his mid thirties now -- he's probably not gonna come again; at least not anytime soon. But Jonny is only twenty and he's almost there, _almost there._

“Pat,” he sniffles, “please.”

Patrick comes back to himself enough to pull out. He takes a moment to watch his come trickle out of Jonny's hole, before he pulls down Jonny's skirt and arranges it prettily. He kicks off his pants and underwear all the way.

He helps Jonny back in a straight position, then spins him around. Jonny leans against the sink for support. He picks at his shirt, armpits and hem damp with sweat. With a nod from Patrick, he tears it off and throws it somewhere, and relief blows over him at the cooler air.

But then Patrick's got his hand up Jonny's skirt and around his cock, stripping it fast and tight. Jonny's leg twitches and he wails, not expecting the sudden rockets of pleasure.

“You gonna come for me, Jonny?” Patrick grins, pulling Jonny's dick out from underneath the skirt, moving the skirt behind his cock. Jonny pants openly into the air, pinned by Patrick's hand. “Gonna be my good girl?”

He says it as a joke, but Jonny shouts and comes hard, all over Patrick's fist and his skirt. Jonny's knees buckle, and he grips the sink for support.

Patrick wraps his clean arm around Jonny to keep him upright. The other tears off some toilet paper so he can wipe off his hand and -- very nicely -- the come on Jonny's skirt. He tosses it in the trash.

He leans forward and brushes their lips together, fingers lightly grazing the bottom of Jonny's chin. Jonny closes the space and kisses him hungrily, sagging limp into Pat's arms.

“I'm older than you; I'm the one who's supposed to be tired, here.”

Jonny smiles at him, come-dumb. Patrick rolls his eyes fondly, then helps Jonny to the bedroom. When Jonny's successfully on the mattress, limbs sprawled about, Patrick goes back to pick up the discarded clothes.

“My shirt is hand-wash.” Jonny calls out, speech a little slurred.

Patrick groans. He hates hand-washed things.

He throws them both in the hallway. Whatever. He'll deal with the laundry later.

He goes back to his boyfriend, who's watching him with shy, half-hooded eyes. Patrick stands by the end of the bed and waits.

Jonny bites his lip nervously. “So you liked it?”

Patrick stares at him, thoroughly unimpressed. “Really? I just fucked you over the sink because my dick liked it so much.”

Jonny flushes red and his eyes fall downward. Patrick sighs. Jonny's big on routine and normality. He's intimidating for a twenty year old, but he gets self conscious about a lot of things.

Obviously, this is still one of them.

“Hey,” Pat says softly, taking one of Jonny's smooth legs, “You're gorgeous.”

Jonny smiles small to himself. Patrick trails a hand down Jonny's leg, cups the back of his foot to slip off Jonny's flat. He lays his leg down on the blankets and does the same with the other shoe.

He puts one knee on the mattress, watches Jonny dip with the bed. He kisses Jonny's navel and slides down the skirt, slow, to reveal Jonny's softened cock and balls.

He tosses the skirt away, and Jonny's left bare and naked at Pat's hand.

Patrick sheds the rest of his suit. He leaves his clothes on the floor as he crawls up the length of the bed and collapses next to Jonny, tugging him close.

Jonny curls into him, sighing softly. Patrick rubs his back, murmuring about how pretty he looked, how good he was. They fell asleep like that, naked underneath blankets, with Jonny's soiled skirt a yard away.

\---

A week later, Patrick comes home from work to find Jonny in doing homework on the couch in a mini skirt and crop top. He was criss-cross, so Patrick could see his lacy white panties underneath.

Needless to say, Jonny got over the self conscious thing.


End file.
